"One of Us"

In Nick Hornby’s recent novel How to be Good,

        a middle class English couple turns a marriage crisis

                into a comic exploration of morality and religion.

Katie and David have gone through their lives so far

        without needing a church

                or searching their souls.

But as their relationship deteriorates,

        Katie decides one Sunday morning

                that she wants to go to services.

"'Perhaps if I'd had a bowl of cereal'," she reflects,

        "'I would never have said anything.'"

 

She announces to her stunned family,

        "I'm going to church. 

                Does anyone want to come?"

She describes their response this way:

"David and the children look at me with some interest,

        for some time.

It's as if, having said something eccentric,

        I might follow this up by doing something eccentric,

                like stripping naked

                        or running amok with a kitchen knife."

She adds, "I am suddenly glad that it is not my job 

        to convince people 

                that going to church

                        is a perfectly healthy leisure activity."

"'What do you want to go for if you don't join in?'" 

        asks her husband.

"'I just want to listen.'" Katie replies.

 

As for what church,

        almost anyone will do.

They'll go to "’the one round the corner.'" 

"There must be one round the corner,"

        Katie assumes.

"They're like betting shops, churches, aren't they?

There's always one round the corner,

        and you never notice them 

                if you don't use them."

 

She picks the church where she can park right in front,

        one that is poorly attended

                and tentative, like she is.

"It's the lack of conviction I want, of course," 

        Katie admits.

"I was hoping for a mild, doubtful liberal,

        possibly a youngish woman,

                who would give a sermon about, say, 

                        asylum seekers and economic migrants,

                                or maybe the National Lottery and greed,

                                        and then apologize for bringing up

                                                the subject of God.

And somehow in the process 

        I would be forgiven my imperfections,

                ...made to understand that just because I wasn't good,

                        it didn't mean I was bad.

That sort of thing."

The service delivers on most of her expectations:

        a sparse congregation

                and a "kindly middle-aged lady" vicar 

                        who seems vaguely ashamed of her beliefs.

"It feels a long way from God,"

        Katie observes.

There is no reason ever to have to go back.

 

It's clear that whatever salvation 

        this couple is going to find

                is not going to come from religion.

In the end, 

        they realize that at least they have each other.

"It's a spark I want to cherish," 

        Katie says about their marriage,

                "a splutter of life in the flat battery."

It's not much,

        but it's all they have.

When they look inward, 

        they don't see a lot,

                but when they look outward,

                        they see nothing at all.

 

If this couple had wandered into our church,

        I hope they would have had a different experience.

But people's isolation is vast and habitual.

It takes a lot to break through the doubt, 

        resistance and self-consciousness we all bring with us

                when we come to church.

We're slightly embarrassed to admit 

        that we need a community like this.

Many of us came here just as Katie and David did –

        never having attended church before,

                with expectations that are primal 

                        and difficult to express.

We're used to going it alone.

Now we're all here together,

        and it is not always comfortable 

                or clear what that means.

 

To come into a religious community 

– especially for the first time –

                is to tap deep into yearnings

                        we may find difficult to identify or explain.

There is a yearning 

        for something beyond our solitary experience:

                a sense of community 

                        or a transcendence of our own limitations.

A life crisis can bring about this need –

        a cataclysmic world event

                or a personal loss –

                        something that sparks the search

                                for stronger bonds and renewal of hope.

We want to turn towards a reality that is larger than ourselves.

 

There is also a yearning to be known and valued

        for who we are –

                as individuals with unique attributes 

                        and gifts to give.

But before these yearnings can be safely acknowledged,

        we need, as Katie did, 

                to listen for awhile.

We sit in the back, 

        just slightly out of reach,

                while we try to understand what it means to be here.

 

In our church, 

        the experience of affiliating 

                tends to be a highly individualized.

Everyone's timetable is different

        and that is all right.

Some people come in,

        declare themselves at home,

                join, 

                        and jump into the middle of things.

Others attend for months or years

        without feeling ready to take the leap. 

Often these people feel at home just as the others do,

        but the act of joining is an obstacle for them,

                a hurdle too high to bound.

 

We are nothing if not independent souls,

        conditioned to be outsiders.

Many of us have forgone the comforts of belonging

        in order to preserve our independence,

                our critical thinking

                        and our free spirits.

Some have made burned bridges

        and lost family traditions

                for that freedom.

Our independence is precious and hard won.

We fear that joining a group 

        will require us to make compromises we cannot afford to make.

This is the personality that tends to be drawn to Unitarian Universalism:

        fiercely independent,

                wary 

                        and self-reflective.

We're loners,

        not joiners.

Until one day we happen to find ourselves sitting here,

        thinking about what it means to be together.

 

The tension between being one 

        and being "one of us"

                is an archetypal religious theme.

The familiar parable from the New Testament

        describes how the good shepherd 

                values each member of his flock. 

In order to retrieve one lost lamb,

        he leaves ninety-nine sheep behind.

As Jesus tells the story,

        it is the stray that deserves the care,

                and not the ninety-nine 

                        who are comfortably settled into the fold.

A single lost sheep is more important than an entire flock.

 

There are many ways to tell 

        – and hear – 

                this deceptively simple story.

One interpretation is 

        that you do not lose your individuality

                when you become a member of the group.

Someone is more likely to come find you, however,

        when you are lost.

The group confers benevolence and care

        on each of its individuals,

                something every one of us needs.

 

Here is what it means to join 

        a Unitarian Universalist congregation:

It is a commitment to enter into reciprocity with others,

        to build a relationship with a community

                that touches people's lives.

To become part of the group

        is not to compromise your individuality,

                but to allow yourself to grow and change

                        in relation to others.

Growth and change take place in stable relationships,

        in which partners keep their commitments

                and look out for each other.

To belong is to take your part in this relationship,

        to help us make this community

                healthy and whole.

If you do that, the community can do its part

        to help you be healthy and whole.

 

When you join us, 

        we are never the same again.

And that is good.

For joining is a dynamic act,

        it keeps the community lively and changing,

                which makes it healthy and strong.

 

The Unitarian Universalist community is small,

        compared to the other religions of the world.

But what we have is precious and irreproducible.

We – a hardy band of outsiders –

        have come together,

                in order to create a community

                        that welcomes everyone.

Only you – each of you, 

        individual and unique in your own way,

                could have done that.

It is because you are who you are,

        that this place is what it is.

For it is your independence

        and even your reluctance,

                that somehow make this community real,

                        a place where even you

                                might be willing to be,

                                        one of us.

Reference used to prepare this sermon: Nick Hornby, How to be Good (New York:Riverhead Books, 2001).